City Jazz
by sisterglitch
Summary: One From the Vaults: Drabble. Edward takes Carlisle out on the town. Manhattan 1925. Edward/Carlisle Slash w/ a slice of Lemon!


**City Jazz by Sisterglitch**

The cab catches air on the bumps as it speeds uptown. It's late. No traffic.

"Where are we going?" Carlisle says, tugging at his collar. "I hate these things" he mutters, loosening his tie.

"You're gonna love this!" Edward's anticipation should be infectious as he glances eagerly out the windows. There's a scattering of pedestrians cruising for cabs as the supper clubs on Broadway lock their doors for the night.

Carlisle suppresses a yawn. "Of course!" He puts on a weak, patronizing smile. "Are we there yet?"

"We're above the Park now, just a few more minutes! I know, I know, we could have run faster, but, you know, it's the City, we don't want to attract attention… and taking a cab just _adds_ to the City experience, don't you think?"

Carlisle rolls his eyes. _What I do for love…_

The excited youth, turns and smiles. Behind the seat, out of the driver's view, he caresses the tops of his mate's fingers, the inside of his gabardine-suited knee. The other man drinks in that smile, that face, those lips, that amazingly long neck…

The cab driver glances back at Edward nervously.

"This is bad neighborhood, where you go," he grumbles.

_What __is__ that accent?_ thinks Carlisle.

"You're being paid well enough, shut up and drive," the boy laughs cockily. "Greek," he whispers under the sound of the engine, in response to the other's unspoken question.

The cab stops on a street of dark, closed storefronts, at the opening to an alley half-lit by a flickering street lamp. Not a soul around.

_This is the club?_ Carlisle thinks in confusion.

Edward throws cash at the driver as they get out. The door is barely closed before the driver hits the gas, disappearing around the corner like he's being chased.

_Back entrance?_ the other queries silently.

"Uh huh…" the young one murmurs mysteriously as he moves away from the street into the shadows. He trails an extended arm behind him, and is followed indulgently.

There is a wet stench in the passage, mixed with a faint smell of cigar smoke. A thin thread of music weaves through the murk, the slow sensuous whine of a solo sax. Carlisle smiles as Edward's pace quickens slightly towards the siren's call.

A good 100 yards in, a slice of amber light from an almost invisible door in a nondescript wall in a forgotten corner of an unnamed street. Honeyed music leaks warm & syrupy from some basement speakeasy. The boy stops, enchanted, tasting the sound.

He turns to face his partner, leans into him, presses him back against the ancient peeling wall.

"What are you doing?" says Carlisle uncomfortably, although it is very clear what Edward is doing, from the smirk on his face to the destination of his wandering fingers. "You're missing the... uh... sax solo..."

"I can hear it just fine from here," growls Edward softly.

"Someone will see..." murmurs Carlisle, as Edward's hand moves between the buttons of C's starched shirt, undoing them. The boy's eyes narrow to slits as he encounters another layer of fabric, an undershirt, and exploring further his eyes widen when he feels bare skin. He catches and holds his mate's slightly alarmed glance.

"Nobody _cares_, darlin'," drawls Edward, who has deftly undone the double buttons at the waistband of Carlisle's pleated pants, leaving only suspenders to support them. "What are you afraid of?"

_God, I'm already hard,_ the man thinks, swallowing.

"Yes, you certainly are," Edward groans almost inaudibly, licking the undulating Adam's apple under the skin, pressing his knee between the resisting thighs.

Reckless boy-teeth graze an earlobe, and the doctor, against his better judgment, allows the intrusion, the piercing of his personal space, his careful public persona.

"My, my… you're so ... accommodating… tonight," slurs the boy, placing one finger hard against lips he thinks move to protest. "Don't you dare tell me 'No.' I'm in charge tonight… "

"I... I just want to touch you," whispers Carlisle.

"Keep your _fucking_ _hands_ to yourself," Edward spits back with a grin as his fingernails graze the golden hairs on the familiar stomach, and he runs his sharp incisors delicately along the edge of the man's perfect jaw.

"Lower," begs Carlisle.

"Maybe…"

The youth covers the man's mouth with his own, eclipsing all attempts at chatter as he runs the slick underside of his tongue over the other's bottom lip. His left hand and arm boldly sheath themselves between soft undergarment and firm flesh.

Carlisle shivers in the warm night. His eyes close, and his breath intake is staccato as he surrenders control. Edward's palm presses Carlisle's length, sliding upward. Carlisle's eyes flicker open, to find Edward's eyes wide, their expression hungry, his smile cynical.

"You love this, don't you," Carlisle says accusingly, playfully. "You love it when I'm at your mercy..."

Edward's smile is wicked, challenging, as he begins to stroke in rhythm to the music. Carlisle reaches tentatively to touch the boy's exquisite face, his own fallen angel in a three-piece suit.

Edward grabs Carlisle's hand in his mouth, sucking deeply on one finger at a time. Teeth, tongue, knuckle, thumb. He slips the wedding band off with his teeth and lips, displaying it cheekily on the tip of his tongue before easing it back on to the wet finger. _"Look Ma, no hands!" _

The sax goes _sotto voce_, and honky-tonk piano creeps into the jam, slow and sexy, with attitude. A female voice emerges, smoky, low, with the weight of a thousand years of sadness and the determination to live through a thousand more to come.

Edward hums in delight to the familiar song as he drops to his knees in front of his partner. Carlisle's practical hands, lost without a purpose, explore the soft heaven of his mate's hair.

Carlisle's head falls back against the wall as Edward's lips envelope him gently. Edward takes him even deeper and Carlisle can feel the low vibration of the blues song in the boy's throat. He thrusts, melting into a blur of sensation: texture, sound, temperature, finally the taste of salt and rust as he bites his lip, as the pleasure radiates through him sharp and strong, from his groin to his nipples to the back of his neck. His knees buckle slightly, then recover. It takes every bit of self-discipline to keep from crying out.

The boy steadies him, and slowly his breathing returns to normal. Edward doesn't let go, leans into him, buttoning and re-adjusting his clothing, smiling oh-so smugly. Carlisle shakes his head. He slowly regains his composure… but not completely. He looks much more relaxed, much more human, than he did ten minutes ago.

Edward straightens and re-tightens his lover's tie, for which he receives - Carlisle's frown.

"Oh, you don't pout nearly as well as I do," grins the boy mischievously.

Dusting off his knees, straightening his jacket, he pulls Carlisle towards the doorway. Carlisle pulls him back, kissing him affectionately, unable to keep the corners of his mouth from turning up in a smile. Edward tugs at his sleeve, and Carlisle follows, suddenly not desiring to be anywhere else but here.

"Come on, old man, buy me a drink!"

_**~*~*~*~*~*~*~**_

_**This was written as a 2011 birthday gift for SandraJ**_


End file.
